Mercury Ascendant
by Hoshi-tachi
Summary: Formerly called Serpent's Riddle, AU second year. What do you do when all you ever thought was true... isn't? A slightly different encounter in a bookshop is about to force Harry to confront just that. 1st in the Ascendancy.
1. Deo, Non Fortuna

**Title**: The Serpent's Riddle

**Authors**: hoshi-tachi and Krystal

**Category**: AU Harry Potter

**Series:** first in the _Dark Lord Chronicles_

**Rating**: PG-13

**Pairings**: None as of yet.

**Spoilers**: SS, CoS, eventually PoA and GoF

**Summary**: What do you do when all you ever thought was true may not be, that your friends are enemies, and your enemies friends? A slightly different encounter in a bookshop is about to force Harry to confront just that.

**Warnings**: Child neglect, some mild profanity.

**Disclaimer**: We don't own Harry Potter. Just like we don't own our own private jets or RPG launchers, despite mucho pleading with our respective parents, and just like we don't own the various Rowling quotes scattered throughout the story. Got it? Good.

**A/N 1**: Go ahead and skip the italicized stuff if you'd prefer- it's directly from the book.

* * *

_Clutching his broken glasses to his face, Harry stared around. He had emerged into a dingy alleyway that seemed to be made up entirely of shops devoted to the Dark Arts. The one he'd just left, Borgin and Burkes, looked like the largest, but opposite was a nasty window display of shrunken heads and, two doors down, a large cage was alive with gigantic black spiders. Two shabby-looking wizards were watching him from the shadow of a doorway, muttering to each other. Feeling jumpy, Harry set off, trying to hold his glasses on straight and hoping against hope he'd be able to find a way out of here._

_An old wooden street sign hanging over a shop selling poisonous candles told him he was in Knockturn Alley. This didn't help, as Harry had never heard of such a place. He supposed he hadn't spoken clearly enough through his mouth full of ashes back in the Weasleys' fire. Trying to stay calm, he wondered what to do._

_"Not lost are you, my dear?" said a voice in his ear, making him jump._

_An aged witch stood in front of him, holding a tray of what looked horribly like whole human fingernails. She leered at him, showing mossy teeth. Harry backed away._

_"I'm fine, thanks," he said. "I'm just-"_

_"HARRY! What d'yeh think yer doin' down there?"_

_Harry's heart leapt. So did the witch; a load of fingernails cascaded down over her feet and she cursed as the massive form of Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper, came striding toward them, beetle-black eyes flashing over his great bristling beard._

_"Hagrid!" Harry croaked in relief. "I was lost-- Floo powder--"_

_Hagrid seized Harry by the scruff of the neck and pulled him away from the witch, knocking the tray right out of her hands. Her shrieks followed them all the way along the twisting alleyway out into bright sunlight. Harry saw a familiar, snow-white marble building in the distance—Gringotts Bank. Hagrid had steered him right into Diagon Alley._

_"Yer a mess!" Hagrid said gruffly, brushing soot off Harry so forcefully he nearly knocked him into a barrel of dragon dung outside an apothecary. "Skulkin' around Knockturn Alley, I dunno—dodgy place, Harry—don' want no one ter see yeh down there--"_

_"I realized _that_," said Harry, ducking as Hagrid made to brush him off again. "I told you, I was lost—what were you doing down there, anyway?"_

_"_I_ was lookin' fer a Flesh-Eatin' Slug Repellent," growled Hagrid. "They're ruinin' the school cabbages. Yer not on yer own?"_

_"I'm staying with the Weasleys but we got separated," Harry explained. "I've got to go and find them..."_

_They set off together down the street._

_"How come yeh never wrote back ter me?" said Hagrid as Harry jogged alongside him (he had to take three steps to every stride of Hagrid's enormous boots). Harry explained all about Dobby and the Dursleys._

_"Lousy Muggles," growled Hagrid. "If I'd've known--"_

_"Harry! Harry! Over here!"_

_Harry looked up and saw Hermione Granger standing at the top of the white flight of steps to Gringotts. She ran down to meet them, her bushy brown hair flying behind her._

_"What happened to your glasses? Hello, Hagrid— Oh, it's _wonderful_ to see you two again-- Are you coming into Gringotts, Harry?"_

_"As soon as I've found the Weasleys," said Harry._

_"Yeh won't have long ter wait," Hagrid said with a grin._

_Harry and Hermione looked around: Sprinting up the crowded street were Ron, Fred, George, Percy, and Mr. Weasley._

_"Harry," Mr. Weasley panted. "We _hoped_ you'd only gone one grate too far..." He mopped his glistening bald patch. "Molly's frantic—she's coming now--"_

_"Where did you come out?" Ron asked._

_"Knockturn Alley," said Hagrid grimly._

_"_Excellent_!" said Fred and George together._

_"We've never been allowed in," said Ron enviously._

_"I should ruddy well think not," growled Hagrid._

_Mrs. Weasley now came galloping into view, her handbag swinging wildly in one hand, Ginny just clinging onto the other._

_"Oh, Harry—oh, my dear—you could have been anywhere--"_

_Gasping for breath she pulled a large clothes brush out of her bag and began sweeping off the soot Hagrid hadn't managed to beat away. Mr. Weasley took Harry's glasses, gave them a tap of his wand, and returned them, good as new._

_"Well, gotta be off," said Hagrid, who was having his hand wrung by Mrs. Weasley ("Knockturn Alley! If you hadn't found him, Hagrid!"). "See yer at Hogwarts!" And he strode away, head and shoulders taller than anyone else in the packed street._

_"Guess who I saw in Borgin and Burkes?" Harry asked Ron and Hermione as they climbed the Gringotts steps. "Malfoy and his father."_

_"Did Lucius Malfoy buy anything?" said Mr. Weasley sharply behind them._

_"No, he was selling--"_

_"So he's worried," said Mr. Weasley with grim satisfaction. "Oh, I'd love to get Lucius Malfoy for something..."_

_"You be careful, Arthur," said Mrs. Weasley sharply as they were bowed into the bank by a goblin at the door. "That family's trouble. Don't go off biting more than you can chew--"_

_"So you don't think I'm a match for Lucius Malfoy?" said Mr. Weasley indignantly, but he was distracted almost at once by the sight of Hermione's parents, who were standing nervously at the counter that ran all along the great marble hall, waiting for Hermione to introduce them._

_"But you're _Muggles_!" said Mr. Weasley delightedly. "We must have a drink! What's that you've got there? Oh, you're changing Muggle money. Molly, look!" He pointed excitedly at the ten-pound notes in Mr. Granger's hand._

_"Meet you back here," Ron said to Hermione as the Weasleys and Harry were led off to their underground vaults by another Gringotts goblin._

_The vaults were reached by means of small, goblin-driven carts that sped along miniature train tracks through the bank's underground tunnels. Harry enjoyed the breakneck journey down to the Weasleys' vault, but felt dreadful, far worse than he had in Knockturn Alley, when it was opened. There was a very small pile of silver Sickles inside, and just one gold Galleon. Mrs. Weasley felt right into the corners before sweeping the whole lot into her bag. Harry felt even worse when they reached his vault. He tried to block the contents from view as he hastily shoved handfuls of coins into a leather bag._

_Back outside on the marble steps, they all separated. Percy muttered vaguely about needing a new quill. Fred and George had spotted their friend from Hogwarts, Lee Jordan. Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were going to a secondhand robe shop. Mr. Weasley was insisting on taking the Grangers off to the Leaky Cauldron for a drink._

_"We'll all meet at Flourish and Blotts in an hour to buy your schoolbooks," said Mrs. Weasley, setting off with Ginny. "And not one step down Knockturn Alley!" she shouted at the twins' retreating backs._

_Harry, Ron, and Hermione strolled off along the winding, cobbled street. The bag of gold, silver, and bronze jangling cheerfully in Harry's pocket was clamoring to be spent, so he bought them large strawberry-and-peanut-butter ice creams, which they slurped happily as they wandered up the alley, examining the fascinating shop windows. Ron gazed longingly at a full set of Chudley Cannon robes in the windows of Quality Quidditch Supplies until Hermione dragged them off to buy ink and parchment next door. In Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop, they met Fred, George, and Lee Jordan, who were stocking up on Dr. Filibuster's Fabulous Wet-Start, No-Heat Fireworks, and in a tiny junk shop full of broken wands, lopsided brass scales, and old cloaks covered in potion stains they found Percy, deeply immersed in a small and deeply boring book called _Prefects Who Gained Power_. "_A study of Hogwarts prefects and their later careers_," Ron read aloud off the back cover. "That sounds _fascinating_..."_

_"Go away," Percy snapped._

_"'Course, he's very ambitious. Percy, he's got it all planned out... He wants to be Minister of Magic..." Ron told Harry and Hermione in an undertone as they left Percy to it._

_An hour later, they headed for Flourish and Blotts. They were by no means the only ones making their way to the bookshop. As they approached it, they saw to their surprise a large crowd jostling outside the doors, trying to get in. The reason for this was proclaimed by a large banner stretched across the upper windows:_

_GILDEROY LOCKHART_

_will be signing copies of his autobiography_

MAGICAL ME

_today 12:30 P.M. to 4:30 P.M._

_"We can actually meet him!" Hermione squealed. "I mean, he's written almost the whole booklist!"_

_The crowd seemed to be made up mostly of witches around Mrs. Weasley's age. A harassed-looking wizard stood at the door, saying, "Calmly, please, ladies... Don't push, there... mind the books, now..."_

_Harry, Ron, and Hermione squeezed inside. A long line wound right to the back of the shop, where Gilderoy Lockhart was signing his books. They each grabbed a copy of _TheStandardized Book of Spells, Grade 2_ and sneaked up the line to where the rest of the Weasleys were standing with Mr. and Mrs. Granger._

_"Oh, there you are, good," said Mrs. Weasley. She sounded breathless and kept patting her hair. "We'll be able to see him in a minute..."_

_Gilderoy Lockhart came slowly into view, seated at a table surrounded by large pictures of his own face, all winking and flashing dazzlingly white teeth at the crowd. The real Lockhart was wearing robes of forget-me-not blue that exactly matched his eyes; his pointed wizard's hat was set at a jaunty angle on his wavy hair._

_A short, irritable-looking man was dancing around taking photographs with a large black camera that emitted puffs of purple smoke with every blinding flash._

_"Out of the way, there," he snarled at Ron, moving back to get a better shot. "This is for the Daily Prophet--"_

_"Big deal," said Ron, rubbing his foot where the photographer had stepped on it._

_Gilderoy Lockhart heard him. He looked up. He saw Ron—and then he saw Harry. He stared. Then he leapt to his feet and positively shouted, "It can't be Harry Potter?" (1)_

* * *

Harry cringed as he felt every eye in the shop turn towards him. And the day had been turning out so _well_...

Then Lockhart was beside him, grabbing him by the arm, and the Boy-Who-Lived found himself being dragged to the back of the room. His protests were drowned out by their audience's applause, but the photographer immortalized Harry's burning cheeks with a quick flash of his camera.

"Nice, big smile, Harry," Lockhart murmured through his grin, shaking his hand for the crowd. "Together, you and I are worth the front page."

Harry looked at him in disbelief. He could feel his fingers going numb by the time the blonde wizard released his hand. The boy attempted to flee back to the safety of his adopted family, but Lockhart took him by the shoulders and turned them both to face the cameras.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he proclaimed with an extravagant flourish of his free hand, "what an extraordinary moment this is! The perfect moment for me to make a little announcement I've been sitting on for some time!" He gazed around lovingly at the gathered crowd, the brilliant smile firmly in place. "When young Harry here stepped into Flourish and Blotts today, he only wanted to buy my autobiography—which I shall be happy to present to him now, free of charge--"

The witches crammed into the room applauded, while Harry wondered just how far up his own arse Lockhart's head was. He'd never even _heard_ of the damn book until a few minutes ago.

"He had _no_ idea that he would shortly be getting much, much more than my book, _Magical Me_. He and his schoolmates will, in fact, be getting the real magical me." The smile widened, reminding Harry strongly of a shark's grin, as the crowd gasped. "Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have great pleasure and pride in announcing that this September, I will be taking up the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"

The Boy-Who-Lived flinched as the shop rang with the approving roar of the crowd. Lockhart beckoned towards a man standing off to the side, and within seconds Harry had had every single book ever written by the blonde-haired git shoved into his hands. Feeling the strain in his arms, he struggled with the temptation to 'accidentally' drop the enormous stack onto Lockhart's foot.

Then he reconsidered, listening to the still-cheering crowd. If he did, he'd probably find himself torn apart by the enraged mass.

Then, at last, Lockhart let him escape back to the Weasleys. The crowd parted, doing its best to get him through before the pile of books in his arms fell on somebody's head. Flushing, Harry opened his mouth to offer the books to Ginny, since she'd need them for the coming school year, and he could always buy his own.

At that moment, however, he felt something catch his ankle, and he went down in a shower of flapping pages. He lay there for a second, the hard floor having driven the breath right out of him, and listened to the titters and concerned cries rising from the other customers.

"Really, Potter, no need to grovel. You're already low enough without kissing the ground."

Harry felt a chill go through him. Slowly, he raised himself to his hands and knees, and saw the hem of a black robe directly in front of him. His eyes followed the robes upwards, and eventually focused on the pale-moon face above them. Draco Malfoy sneered down at him, and Harry _knew_, without a doubt, that the other boy had been the one who had tripped him.

The twelve-year-old rose to his feet, emerald eyes lit by a flame from within. "Malfoy," he said coldly, ignoring Ginny's wide-eyed looks between them.

Malfoy smirked at the Gryffindor's obvious anger. "Bet you loved that, didn't you, Potter? Can't even go into a bookshop without getting your picture plastered all over the front page. Of course, this time you had to sponge off of someone else's fame to manage it, eh, Scarhead?"

Harry stepped forward, fully intending to plant his clenched fist right where that smirk creased Malfoy's lips. But just as he was about to pull back for the punch, that same smooth, icy voice he'd heard in Borgin and Burkes spoke from behind. "Why, Draco, is this one of your schoolmates?"

Startled, Harry turned around to see Lucius Malfoy standing there, and Ron and Hermione pushing their way through the crowded shop to join them.

Malfoy Jr. nodded, the sneer returning. "This is Harry Potter, Father."

"I see..." the man said quietly to himself. He studied the boy carefully, his thoughts locked away behind his blank mask of a face.

"Oy, what are _you_ doing here?" Ron demanded, his freckled face flushing as he glared at the Slytherin.

Malfoy returned the look with a contemptuous one of his own. "Why, Weasel, am I no longer permitted to buy my schoolbooks? Should I simply order them from a catalogue, and never set foot in Diagon Alley again?" He looked thoughtful for a moment. "That isn't a bad idea, actually. I'd be able to go the entire summer without seeing your pathetic face again."

"Now, now, Draco. You must at least be _polite_ to your schoolmates, as... difficult as it may be." Lucius Malfoy knelt and plucked one of Harry's books off the floor. He paged through it slowly, the faintest of smiles on his face as he was apparently amused by its contents.

"As you wish, Father," Malfoy said, giving his senior a little bow. "So," he began mockingly, "has _your_ father managed to make any decent money yet, or are you as poor as always?"

His face by now an ugly brick-red, Ron lunged at the blonde, only to have his arms nearly pulled out of their sockets as Harry and Hermione each grabbed one to hold him back. "Lemme go, I'm gonna pound his face in so far he'll see through the back of his skull!"

"'Ere, now, what's all this about? You two aren't fightin', are yeh?" the shop proprietor asked, having appeared by their elbows like magic, with Mr. Weasley at his shoulder.

Both twelve-year-olds hesitated, faced with the sudden intrusion of authority.

"No fight, Mr. Blotts," Lucius Malfoy said smoothly, moving between the owner and the group of children. "Merely boys showing their spirits."

Mr. Blotts took a step back, face paling. "M-Mr. Malfoy! What... I'm delighted to see you here, sir! I-I apologize if I... interrupted anything." Still practically groveling, he vanished back into the mob of customers waiting to get their books signed.

Mr. Weasley watched him go, the faintest of scowls on his face. "Lucius," he said stiffly, nodding his head to his fellow Ministry worker.

Malfoy Sr. returned the nod with a little smile. "Arthur. How... pleasant to see you again."

The redhead's lips tightened. "I'm sure."

If anything, Malfoy's smile simply grew, changing into a smirk on the way. "Come, Draco. Your mother is expecting us, and 'twould be a shame to disappoint her." He turned to Harry, handing him the book he'd picked up off of the floor. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Potter."

And with that, the Malfoys were gone.

* * *

Harry scooped the last bite of the hash browns into his mouth and washed it down with a quick gulp of pumpkin juice.

"All done, dear?"

The dark-haired boy looked up into the matron's gentle face and nodded. "Yes, Mrs. Weasley. Thank you, that was wonderful!"

She flushed with pleasure at the compliment, but still frowned at him anyway. "Are you sure, dearie? Three weeks of my food, and you're _still_ nothing but skin and bones. Did those muggles never feed you?" she wondered absentmindedly.

Harry blushed, dropping his eyes to his empty plate. "I don't think I could eat another bite," he said truthfully, even if it wasn't the answer to what she was really asking.

After all, how could he explain years of being half-starved by the Dursleys? How could he tell his best friend's mother, and who seemed to be rapidly taking the place of Lily Potter, that his family was, if not downright abusive, at least neglectful?

He couldn't. So instead he reassured her that he was fine several times over, and added a few more compliments on her cooking to distract the mothering woman.

"Well, alright," Mrs. Weasley said doubtfully, reaching for his plate. She walked over and put it in the sink for the dishwashing spell to take care of. "I just so hate seeing you walk around looking like a stiff wind would push you over."

Harry blushed again, standing up and pushing his chair back in. "I guess I just have a fast metabolism?" he offered with a shrug. "Nothing I eat ever seems to stick."

Mrs. Weasley nodded thoughtfully at that. "Ronald must be the same way. With the amount of food he shovels into his mouth..." she shook her head fondly. "Of course, he won't get anything for breakfast if he doesn't ever get out of bed!"

Lips twitching, Harry followed her gaze up the stairs. "I'm sure he'll wake up... eventually. I mean, he can't sleep forever... can he?"

Mrs. Weasley snorted, and stated a number, in hours, that made Harry's jaw drop.

"You're _kidding_." The older witch gave him a Look. "But... _no one_ can sleep for that long! It isn't possible!" Blinking, the boy stopped to reconsider. "Well, unless you're using the Draught of the Living Death, but that's a special case."

Mrs. Weasley smiled at him indulgently, and Harry felt the shadow of a doubt enter his mind as he remembered just how hard it could be to wake Ron up sometimes. "Maybe," he conceded reluctantly.

The experienced mother nodded in satisfaction. "What are you going to do today?" she asked, changing the subject now that she had tasted victory. "I'm afraid there isn't much to do until Ron comes down, what with Ginny and the rest of the boys off with their friends."

Harry grimaced ruefully. "I need to finish my homework anyway. The Dursleys locked up all of my books at the beginning of summer, so I haven't gotten a chance to work on it. Hermione'll _kill_ me if I show up at school without even touching any of it."

Mrs. Weasley seemed pleased. "Such a responsible boy," she said, reaching out to ruffle his already hopelessly messy hair, and he blushed. "Now, why don't you take your books on outside and work on the picnic table? That way you'll have plenty of room, and the sunlight will do you some good. You're far too pale!"

And so it was that a few minutes later found Harry depositing his last armful of books onto the old, weathered table. Sighing in relief, he plopped himself down on the bench, and then stopped, eyes wide.

Had he just been _relieved_ that he could finally work on his homework?

Harry buried his head in his arms with a groan. Dear Merlin, he was turning into _Hermione_...

_No_, he tried to tell himself. He _wasn't_ turning into Hermione. He couldn't be. The world couldn't possibly support the weight of the required IQs of two such individuals. No, he was just... glad that the aforementioned brunette would have no excuse to figuratively trail his small intestine through the halls of Hogwarts.

Yes, that was it. Harry nodded happily, glad the situation had been resolved, and reached for his nearest assignment. He grimaced as it turned out to be the Defense Against the Dark Arts assignment that Professor Dumbledore had assigned in light of Quirrell's... misfortune. Mind you, he didn't really think it was a _bad_ class- in fact, he suspected that with the right teacher, it would be a truly fascinating course, but with that, that... _traitor_ teaching it last year, the Boy-Who-Lived held no love for the DADA.

And it didn't look like there was much hope for it _this_ year, either. Not with that git Lockhart as the new professor.

Sighing, Harry read over the assignment, and blinked. _Explain the physical, magical, and cultural similarities and differences between pixies and wood faeries in three feet of parchment,_ he read again, dismayed. He'd heard of pixies, of course, but wood faeries were a complete mystery to the Muggle-raised wizard. And he was supposed to write three _feet_ on them?

With another groan, he probed the large stack of books on the table in front of him for anything that might be able to help him. Within a few seconds Harry had emerged with the largest of Lockhart's books in his hand. As he flipped it open to the index, he jumped as something fell out and to the ground.

Just a tad startled, Harry bent down and picked the object up. It looked like a diary, smaller and much more slender than its host volume, and bound all in black leather. Feeling the pangs of curiosity, he leafed through its pages, and was disappointed to find them blank. He turned back to the first page, and stared at the name embossed there in faded gold leaf: **Tom Marvolo Riddle**.

At last, with a shrug Harry turned back to his homework. It most likely wasn't anything important, and if it was...

Well, he'd figure that out later. Right now, that damned essay was calling.

* * *

(1) This passage comes directly from J.K. Rowling's _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_.

* * *

**A/N 2**: And here you see where most of my energy has been going for the past month or so. First of all, as you may have noticed in the header, this is the result of a collaboration between me and a friend. Krystal (non-ff. net penname) came up with the idea while we were sitting in homeroom, we spent the next half-hour planning it out, and then I spent the next few weeks planning it out further and writing this chapter. Being a collaboration, and with much longer chapters than I normally write, don't expect me to update on it too often.

* * *

5 October 2004


	2. Vox Clamantis In Deserto

_Warnings and Disclaimers:_ The books mentioned hereafter do not belong to me. However, I have a suspicion that something like this really does lie between their covers…

* * *

_**Vox Clamantis In Deserto**  
The voice of one crying in the wilderness._

* * *

Harry sighed, throwing down the quill. Well, at least he now _knew _he wasn't turning into Hermione... 

Of course, the bloody books weren't exactly helping, he acknowledged as he glared at the aforementioned pile of useless wastes of paper. For Merlin's sake, just what kind of 'expert' _was_ Lockhart? He already knew the man was an idiot, but he'd hoped the narcissistic creep would at least manage to get his _facts_ right!

Instead, he not only contradicted himself once, but twice! There were three different mentions of wood faeries in the books that he'd managed to find so far, and each mention said something different. In _Gadding with Ghouls_, Lockhart claimed to have rescued a faery prince that was caught in a spider's web, and then been invited to a feast in his honor in their palace...

But then, in _Walking with Werewolves_, the man stated that the faeries had recently gone through a revolution, and were setting up a democratic system. And _then_, not ten pages later, they were apparently an anarchical rabble, with no government whatsoever!

Harry leaned back on the bench with a sigh. Damn it, but he just _knew _that man was going to be useless as a teacher...

"Harry, dear, lunch'll be ready in about twenty minutes" he heard Molly Weasley holler from the back door of the Burrow.

"Alright, Mrs. Weasley" he called back, twisting around in his seat. "Is Ron up yet"

She shook her flame-red hair. "Not yet. I'm about ready to go _hex_ him awake."

"You could always ask the twins to do it when they get back" Harry suggested with as straight a face as he could muster, and Molly 'tsked' and waggled her finger.

"None of that now, dear. I just want him awake, not frightened out of his wits." The witch frowned, glancing up at the window to her youngest son's room. "Though if he stays in there much longer, I'll consider it..." She shook her head and looked back at her guest with a kindly smile. "Finish up whatever you were doing, dear, and come on inside."

Harry nodded. "Yes, Mrs. Weasley." He sighed as the witch went back inside. "That assumes I was actually managing to _do_ something" he muttered, turning in his seat.

The boy let out a yelp, as much from surprise as from pain, as his elbow connected with his open ink bottle, sending black ink spreading across the table. He said a word that would have had Mrs. Weasley washing out his mouth with soap, guest or not, and rushed to get his books out of the way of the spreading pool.

He managed to get most of them out of harm's way, all of them, in fact, but the slender diary he'd found in his books. Harry picked that one up gingerly between two fingers, frowning at the ink that stained it from cover to cover. An attempt to dry it off with a spare bit of parchment turned out to be futile, and the boy wrapped it in the parchment to see if Ron's mother could salvage it later. Then he stacked the books and rolls of parchment in his arms, stuck his quill between his teeth, and headed back to the Burrow.

"Oh, Harry, why didn't you ask for help" Molly asked, pulling out her wand and casting a spell.

Harry sighed in relief as the heavy books were levitated out of his arms. "I didn't think of it" he admitted quietly, after removing the quill from his mouth. "Thanks, Mrs. Weasley. I'm afraid I made a bit of a mess out on the table, though. I knocked over my ink bottle."

"Don't worry about it, dear" she replied absently, expertly directing the floating books towards the stairs. "I'll clean it up later. Now, up to Ronald's room, then"

The boy nodded, and together they make to the trip up to Ron's room. Harry had to blink away the after image, as he always did whenever he stepped into his best friend's violently orange bedroom. Molly set his books down in a corner by the cot he was using for a bed.

"How are you ever going to get him up" Harry asked, staring wide-eyed at his still thoroughly unconscious friend, who was snoring loudly enough to wake the dead.

The witch gave him a secretive smile. "Watch and learn, dear, watch and learn..." Her wand still out, she pointed towards the sleeping boy and murmured the incantation to the Tickling Charm.

Ron immediately started to giggle, and by the time his bewildered eyes opened he was laughing uncontrollably. "M-Mum! Stop" he managed to gasp out in between guffaws.

After an endless moment she relented, breaking the spell. "It's lunch time, dear" she the gasping boy with a fond smile. "Do come down when you're ready." With that, she swept out of the room.

Harry stared after her. "Ron? Your mum's scary."

The redhead simply nodded, still trying to catch his breath.

-

It was a good few hours before Harry returned to Ron's room. The twins had come home not long after lunch, and challenged he and Ron to a Quidditch game that lasted until just before dark. Then Ginny arrived soon afterwards, just in time for dinner. This time, though, she'd managed to only put her elbow into her mashed potatoes instead of the butter.

Harry shook his head as he remembered the incident. Sometimes he didn't think he'd _ever_ understand girls.

He sighed and settled down onto his cot. At least he'd managed to escape an after-dinner chess game with Ron. Thank Merlin Mr. Weasley was perfectly willing to be beaten by his son at chess...

As the boy looked around, his gaze fell on the pile of books in the corner. "Oh, man.." he groaned. He'd forgotten to ask Mrs. Weasley about salvaging that diary...

Harry leaned over and picked the parchment-wrapped diary up off the top of the pile. He carefully unwrapped it, almost but not quite sure that the spilled ink would be dry by now. But the question was soon moot, as he stared at the perfectly _clean and dry_ diary in his hands.

"What the" He sank down on his bed, the diary still in his hands. Mrs. Weasley hadn't fixed it- the clear ink stains on the parchment made it obvious no one had unwrapped it. So how...

A sudden thought struck him, and he leaned over to rummage through his trunk. He pulled out a spare bottle of black ink, unstoppered it, and grabbed up the quill he'd been using before.

Harry flipped open the diary, this time unsurprised by the pristine condition of its pages. He dipped the quill into the ink, and held it poised over the diary as a drop of the dark liquid gathered at its tip.

For a reason unknown to him at the time, but that he would later know to be the sense of impending fate, the balance of all the world seemed to hang on that one moment, that one drop, that the Boy-Who-Lived watched so unexpectedly closely. At last, after a brief eternity and an endless moment, it fell, to splash against the white pages below.

As the young wizard gazed on, the tiny stain vanished, and that same inexplicable sense of _fate_ intensified.

-

It had been dark for so long.

It was odd, really. All he was were memories. The memory of light should have been enough to sustain him, but all it did was taunt him with the hell he had unknowingly consigned himself to, a Hell of endless, timeless _remembering_...

He hadn't known, when he cast the spell. He'd thought all that would transfer would _be_ memories, like in a pensieve. He hadn't realized that in speaking that particular incantation, he was making a perfect duplicate of himself, and imprisoning it inside the pages of a book.

Like the muggles said, hindsight was twenty-twenty.

He'd thought it was over, when he felt the ink stain the book from cover to cover, releasing a flood of impressions into his consciousness. But nothing more had happened. His screamed inquiries had gone unanswered, unseen.

Another eternity passed, as the numbness he'd felt since he gave up struggling, just after he'd realized the horror he'd forced upon himself, was replaced by a sick despair, the next, long step on the path to true madness.

And then, he felt something else, something new, a trickle compared to the flood he'd felt a lifetime ago, a millennia, a moment. Something that he dared not call hope glimmered inside him, an ember he jealously guarded in case the darkness put it out again as he called out, pleading for someone to hear him.

-

Harry held his breath as he waited for something to happen, knowing deep in his soul that something would, and nothing would ever be the same again. The ink vanished, and still he waited.

And, finally, fate nodded, freeing that brief slice of forever. Words spidered across the page, as though scrawled by a shaking, desperate hand. The boy bent over the page, reading and rereading them until they faded away:

_Please, is anyone there...?_

Harry smiled softly, feeling a sense of _rightness_ fill him that utterly washed away any doubts he might have had. He carefully dipped the quill again, and, in an action that would cause him more pain and more joy than anything ever would again in his long life, replied:

_Yes. I'm here._

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A/N; -is speechless- That was... not what I was expecting. 

-shakes her head- Right. Anyway... review responses. I can understand how some of you might have gotten the impression this was an Evil!Harry, but it isn't. Merely Dark!. And pay attention to the summary. _Nothing _is what it seems.

Our most sincere gratitude to **Andromeda Snape-Malfoy**, **borne-shadow-childe**, **Drusilla**, **HecateDeMort**, **HoshiHikari**, **Maxennce**, **Mithros**, **Shadowface**, **Shelob** (-grins- That's what _I_ always wondered, too. It's part of what made me want to actually write this story when my friend and I came up with it during one of our usual 'what if' conversations. Though, the 'what if' wasn't the part about the diary, I just decided to make it that way to facilitate the 'what if'.), **Skull Bearer**, **Tia**** Evans**, and **Wren Truesong** (-chuckles- There's a light at the end of the tunnel, and it's a train… Try not to actually _expect_ anything, though. This is probably going to be my most… AU story to date.).

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Oh, and a happy Singles Awareness Day to all! (And Valentine's Day to those who aren't.)

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14 February 2005


	3. Non Ignara Mali, Miseris Succurrere Disc

**Warnings and Disclaimers: **All of my limited understanding of astrology comes from, appropriately enough, astrology .com.

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**_Non Ignara Mali, Miseris Succurrere Disco  
_**_Not unacquainted with misfortune, I learn to assist the wretched.

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_

_Yes. I'm here._

The reply rang through his existence, not seen or heard so much as felt, and if he'd still had a body to do it with, Tom knew he would have wept at the unexpected beauty and elegance of those three simple words. As it was, he spent a moment just basking in the feeling, in the knowledge that he wasn't alone.

"Please," he said at last, for once in his life not caring that it sounded like he was begging. After all, that was exactly what he was doing. "Please, don't leave me."

This time his savior answered back more quickly, and Tom clung to that answer with all he had. He made it a part of him, driving it so far into his consciousness that, should he ever dream again, it would have a starring role.

_I won't. I promise._

-

Harry looked up from the diary as he heard footsteps thundering up the stairs. Ron burst into the room a moment later, panting a little from the exertion. "Sorry, mate," he said, dropping onto his bed. "The twins are back at it again, and Mum looked like she was going to go spare, so I cleared the area."

The Boy-Who-Lived forced a grin, pushing down his annoyance into a little ball deep inside. After all, it _was_ Ron's room; he had every right to burst in if he wanted. "Sounds like a smart move, all right," he commented, at the same time tilting the diary away from his best friend as casually as he could. For some reason that Harry couldn't quite pin down, he wanted to keep it and its inhabitant to himself as long as he possibly could.

But that left him with nothing else to say, and the room slowly descended into an awkward silence. "So, ah..." Ron began. "You reckon you're ready to head back to school, yet?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. Not that your family isn't great," he was quick to add, "but Hogwarts is..."

The redhead grinned. "Yeah, I know. You belong there." Harry nodded again, feeling a twinge of guilt as he recalled his earlier irritation. It was a great way to repay his best friend, it really was, especially when said friend understood him so well.

"What about you?'' he asked quickly. "Are you ready to go back?" It wasn't _really_ changing the subject...

Ron sighed. "Yeah. I guess so." At his friend's questioning glance, he shrugged. "I love my family, and while I'm at school I miss them like crazy, but..." He shrugged again.

Harry looked away, grinning. The Weasley clan _could_ be rather overwhelming.

"Hey, what's that?" The wizard glanced back to find Ron staring curiously at the book in his hands.

"Er. It's my diary," Harry answered with utter verisimilitude, if not the complete truth.

"Ah. Hands off, right?" Ron chewed his lip, his hazel eyes thoughtful. "I don't remember you ever keeping one before."

Harry shook his head quickly. "I only just started. Picked it up in the bookstore one day." Again, true. He reached for the quill again, dipping it into the ink bottle. "I thought I'd just turn in early after I finished this up," he said, trying to make it sound casual.

"Right, mate. I'll keep quiet." Harry sent a quick prayer of gratitude winging upwards that Ron didn't seem offended, and gave him a genuine smile.

"Thank you," he said quietly, but if his friend recognized the words meant more than they at first seemed, he showed no sign of it. The redhead just nodded, rearranging himself on his bed until he was looking up at the ceiling.

Still smiling, Harry bent back to the diary. _My name is Harry_, he wrote as neatly as he could. Even after nearly a year he still wasn't entirely used to writing with a quill. _On the cover it says this diary belongs to Tom Riddle. Is he you?_

The answer was scrawled back almost before he'd lifted the nub from the page. _Yes._

Harry bit his lip, trying to figure out how to ask his next question without being rude. _I'm sorry if I offend you, but-_

_How did I get stuck a diary?_

_Well, yes._

_I found an old spell in a manuscript to essentially combine a wizard's essence with an inanimate object. I was overconfident and didn't read the fine print that said it wouldn't be just my essence combined with it but my entire consciousness._

The wizard winced. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to be trapped inside a book, and he wasn't at all sure he wanted to find out, either. _Is there any way to reverse it?_ he asked.

_The original me tried to find one for a few years afterwards, but nothing came of it, and he eventually stopped talking to me all together._

Harry felt a stir of anger in his gut. _I don't know if I can help, but I won't leave you alone_, he wrote.

_Thank you_. Tom seemed to be calming a bit; his writing was getting much clearer than it had been. _Could you tell me what year it is?_

_1992_, Harry answered.

There was a long pause. _...Bugger me. Fifty years! _

Harry winced again. Something told him he would be doing a lot of that in the future. _Tom?_ he asked, when nothing more appeared in the diary for a minute or two.

_I'm... fine. It just... surprised me._

The wizard had a feeling that was an understatement, but Tom didn't seem to want to elaborate, so he let it go. Harry flicked a glance towards Ron, and then dipped his quill again. _It's time to sleep. I'll be back in the morning, I promise_.

Nothing happened for a long minute. Then Tom finally responded. _All right_.

That was all he said, but Harry had a feeling Tom didn't really believe him when he said he would come back. And who could blame him, after his creator, someone who was really just another copy of himself (and just which one would have been the copy, and which real?) had abandoned him. _I promise_, he wrote again, and closed the diary.

He would keep that promise, Harry vowed to himself as Ron agreeably turned out the lights with a softly spoken word. And it was only partly to do with how shitty he felt, lying there in the darkness.

-

"Is it done?"

The man smiled vaguely, leaning against the white marble balcony and looking up at the sky. "The centaurs would say Mercury is bright tonight," he responded.

His friend growled. "Blast it, enough with your bloody Divination! I never could understand what you saw in the subject. A more ridiculous bunch of twaddle I've never seen."

The man snorted, straightening and tucking his hands into the voluminous sleeves of his pale robes. "With that fraud Trelawney teaching it, of course you wouldn't. But it _is_ a viable tool for predicting the future." He paused and sneered, his everyday persona briefly coming to the fore. "Well, the planets are. Tea leaves are nothing but disgusting little blobs that the deluded see shapes in."

Scowling, the other wizard moved up to stand next to him at the balcony's edge. "Did you do it or not?" he demanded, bringing the conversation back to its original topic.

"Yes, I did," the pale man replied with an irritated sigh. "Really, you doubt me after this many years?"

He was still looking at the stars, but he heard the snort beside him. "With Potter involved? I'd be shocked if everything _did_ go to plan. The brat positively has a _gift_ for throwing even the best-laid plans out the window."

"I'll have to take your word for it. A meeting that lasted less than a minute is hardly anything to base the judgment of a personality on." A cloud briefly passed over the nearly full moon, obscuring the pale man's frown. "…It may not work," he said after a long moment of silence. "We may have mistranslated it."

His friend's mouth tightened. "Perhaps. Even so, it was never anything more than a distant hope. We must continue to lay other plans."

"And you must continue to play your part," he finished for him. "Does Dumbledore suspect?"

His friend, dark to his light, sighed, his face momentarily losing its customary scowl and showing his weariness to the night. "Of course he suspects," he answered tersely. "The man suspects anyone and everyone."

"More than usual, then?"

There was a pause. "I don't believe so."

"But you're not sure." The pale man looked down from the sky for the first time, searching his friend's face. "You're sure you want to continue this farce?"

The other wizard started to answer, and was interrupted by a sleepy voice from behind them. "Father? Uncle Severus? What are you doing here?"

Lucius Malfoy turned to see his son and heir standing in the entrance to his rooms. "It's nothing, Draco," he said fondly, suppressing the sadness the sight of his only child always brought to his heart. Draco had so much potential, but it was too much of a risk to share everything with him. "Severus is merely visiting."

The boy glanced at his godfather, who nodded in agreement. His lips pursed, reminiscent of his father only moments before, and the two adults knew he wasn't fully convinced. "All right," he said anyway. "I was just wondering why you were still up. It's good to see you, Uncle. Good night."

Lucius sighed as Draco withdrew back into the house, obviously sulking at their refusal to tell him their secrets. "…I hate this," he murmured.

"Someday, perhaps we may tell him," Severus said. "Once all our plans are not teetering on the thinnest of threads."

The pale wizard nodded. "A nightcap?" he offered after a couple of minutes. "Before you return to Hogwarts?"

Severus nodded his acceptance, and turned to go inside, but he paused when the other man made no such movement. "I'll join you in just a moment," Lucius told him, leaning back against the balcony.

Once his oldest surviving friend was gone, the pureblood sighed again, and looked back up at the stars. It was too far away to see with the naked eye; he knew that, but it seemed to make no difference to what his senses told him. He could almost _feel_ its influence beaming on him, on them all.

Oh, yes, Mercury was, indeed, bright tonight.

Change was in the air.

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A/N: I don't often listen to my whims (really, I don't, it's just in writing!), but tonight I just all of a sudden decided to change the name of this story and of the series it belongs to. I hope I didn't confuse anybody…

A couple of people asked about pairings. Face it, I am a slash writer, but that only means I'm not likely to do a het pairing (for major characters, at least). I have no problems with not doing any serious romance at all, unless of course it's part of the plot. So, we'll see.

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_Our most sincere gratitude to_ **aleclovemax**, **A lilmatchgirl**, **azntgr01**, **Cheshire**, **cpg**, **crazy-lil-nae-nae**, **Drusilla**, **E.A.V.**, **GoddessMoonLady**, **HoshiHikari**, **japanese-jew**, **Laughing Cat**, **maleficus****-lupus**, **mc**, **me the queen**, **Miace**, **Mithros**, **Raehli**, **Shadowed Rains**, **Silver Phantom Phoenix**, **Shade Dancer** (hugs), **Skull Bearer**, **Skye-Chan 12**, **Tinkering**, **Virginia Riddle-Malfoy**, **Wren Truesong**, **XyBlumaXy**, _and_ **YumiAngel** _for reviewing.

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_

12 October 2005


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